Silent Screams
by Pheonix-from-the-ashes
Summary: Draco feels trapped inside himself, he doesn't want to be a younger version of his father anymore...
1. Default Chapter

The boy lay, staring at the ceiling above his bed. He was too restless to stay still, but in too much pain to move. Violent, angry thoughts consumed him as he lay there, aching from head to foot, wanting nothing more than to scream at the top of his voice and leap of out the window and break on the patio, 3 floors below. But he couldn't. Firstly, he knew his aching body would not allow him to reach the window, never mind climb on to the sill in order to jump out, and secondly, his father was sure to hear him move. If he did, he would most likely come upstairs and beat his son, once again, in to unconsciousness. "Only a few more hours," he thought to himself desperately, "then you're out of here." And with that blissful thought, he fell into an uncomfortable, nightmare-ridden sleep.  
  
The boy who lay peacefully there, was called Draco Malfoy. The place in which he rested was his bedroom, in the Malfoy manor. It was the last night of the summer holidays and tomorrow he would be returning to Hogwarts for his sixth year. He couldn't wait. The summer holidays were the worst part of the year for him, and every year he dreaded returning him, and anticipated returning to school. There was a simple reason for his hatred of his "home"; his father. Lucius Malfoy was a Deatheater, worshipped Lord Voldemort and wanted nothing more than to have his son follow in his footsteps.  
  
This holiday had been particularly bad for Draco for several reasons. First of all, Harry Potter had, once again, eluded the clutches of Voldemort and his Deatheaters. This greatly angered Voldemort, and angered Lucius even more. After being caught in the Department of Mysteries at the ministry of magic, it seemed that Lucius Malfoy would, finally, pay for the crimes he had committed. But, once again, he managed to convince Cornelius Fudge that he had not acted of his own free will, but had been under the imperious curse. Voldemort was furious that Lucius had denounced him for the second time, but was pacified when Lucius explained to him that he would be much more useful when he wasn't locked in a cell inside an impregnable fortress in the middle of the ocean. Despite this, Lucius was still very angry at the fact that Harry Potter had, once again, escaped and, in the process made the revealed the Dark Lord to the wizarding society and landed some of Voldemort's most loyal Deatheaters, such as the Lestranges', in Azkaban, once again. Lucius, it seemed, needed to vent his anger, and his chosen stress reliever just so happened to be Draco.  
  
Therefore, for no real reason, Draco had received harsh punishments for the most minor of misdemeanours, almost every day over the holiday. Another thing that had angered Lucius was Draco's OWL results. They had arrived on the 31st of July, just as they were eating breakfast. Draco was not expecting any miracles, he knew he hadn't done nearly enough work for his OWL's and, therefore, wasn't expecting the most fantastic grades. However, from his father's reaction to the letter (which he had read, without letting Draco see it), the boy assumed that he had received T's in all of his subjects. Draco did not awake for 24 hours after his father had read the letter. Only then did he find out that he had received the punishment for an O in DADA, an E in potions, transfiguration and charms, an A in arithmancy and care of magical creatures and a P in herbology and history of magic. Draco himself was quite proud of these grades, especially the O in DADA, as he had worked very hard for that. His father, however, was not so pleased, and he made that quite clear to Draco.  
The morning of the return to Hogwarts finally arrived. Draco awoke at 6:30am and hauled himself slowly out of bed. He reached into his bedside draw and drank the last of his concealing potion, to hide the cuts, bruises and scars that he had acquired, some recent, some ancient. His body ached with every tiny movement as he wandered around his room, picking up odd items he had forgotten to pack and shoving them haphazardly into his trunk. By 8 o'clock he was fully dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, had his trunk packed, his wounds concealed and was making his way down stairs for breakfast. As he entered the breakfast room, he saw his father sitting at the table, biting toast, sipping coffee and reading the Daily Prophet with a slight frown on his face. "Good morning father," said Draco, cautiously. His father did not answer until Draco had seated himself opposite and taken a slice of toast from the rack. "Are you packed yet?" he asked, still staring at the paper in front of him. "Yes, father," replied Draco, "when are we leaving?"  
  
"Half past ten, you had better be ready by then, I have a meeting at 11 with the minister," he said, casually.  
  
"Yes, sir," Draco said.  
  
The rest of breakfast was spent in silence, the two Malfoy's eating toast and sipping coffee, the older reading the paper, the younger trying to make as little noise as possible.  
After breakfast, Draco hauled himself painfully back up to his room to collect his trunk. After dragging it out of his room and down a short flight of steps, he was in almost unbearable agony. He stood his trunk at the top of the stairs and pushed it – he could not face hauling all the way down. It began to bounce down the stairs and Draco followed slowly behind it. He was about half way down the stairs when the trunk reached the bottom, stopped abruptly and flipped over, landing on the floor with a huge crash. His father emerged from a door to the left of the hall just as Draco stepped off the last step. He looked a the trunk of the floor, "What the hell did you do that for?" he hissed, "You could have broken it, you lazy child." He hit Draco hard with the back of his hand and sent him flying into the staircase. With that, he muttered a spell that caused the trunk to right itself and fly back to the top of the stairs, "Carry it!" he whispered, vehemently, and then turned back into the room he came out of, leaving Draco lying against the steps, his hand against his injured cheek. The boy stood up, muttering to himself and began the harrowing task of climbing back up the stairs and carrying his trunk down. By the time 10:30 arrived Draco was standing the hall way, cloak on over his jeans and t- shirt, trunk by his feet, waiting for his father to take him to the station. Lucius emerged into the hall and grabbed his son roughly by the arm,  
  
"Are you ready, boy?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, father," Draco replied, and with that the two disappeared from the hall.  
  
They reappeared almost instantly on the platform 9 ¾ in front a scarlet steam engine, billowing smoke. There were very few students there yet, and most were standing waiting for their friends to arrive before they got on the train. Draco turned to say goodbye to his father, as he knew he would not hang around to watch the train leave.  
  
"Behave yourself this term, Draco," ordered Lucius.  
  
"Yes, sir," was the reply  
  
"And do not disappoint me," he continued.  
  
"No, sir," he answered.  
  
"Goodbye, then" Lucius finished.  
  
"Goodbye, sir," Draco replied, as his father disappeared once again.  
  
Draco began to heave his trunk to the door of the nearest carriage. With great difficulty, due to his wounds, not lack of strength, he lifted his trunk onto the train, into a compartment and stowed it in the luggage rack. He sat himself down on one of the seats and watched out of the window as more and more students arrived on the platform, said their goodbyes, and boarded the train. At about ten to eleven, he was joined by Crabbe and Goyle. He rolled his eyes at them as they entered a conversation about the feast that evening. When he decided he could stand their mindless ramblings no longer, he stood up slowly and went to find an empty compartment. He walked along the corridor until he found a compartment with no sound issuing from it. He slid the door open, only to find that it wasn't empty at all; Hermione Granger sat in the corner staring out of the window. She looked around as she heard the door open and Draco muttered, "Sorry, I didn't think there was anyone in here," and left. She was bemused; she had expected at least one derogatory comment from him. Draco wandered on until he found a compartment with two first years in it; he walked in, then, spotting them, turned to walk out again. They looked at him fearfully, then muttered, "It's ok, we were just leaving," and hurried past him, throwing nervous glances over their shoulders. Draco shrugged then sat down by the window. The rest of the train journey passed in a haze of pain, rain and annoying appearances from Crabbe and Goyle for a brief time.  
  
The train pulled into Hogsmeade later that evening and Draco made to disembark. Remembering his prefect duties as he stepped off the train, he called the younger students over to the carriages. By the time he had made sure everyone else was in a carriage, there were no empty ones left, the convoy had started to move, and so he hopped quickly into the last one. As he stepped through the door, he realised that the carriage contained no less than six of his "enemies"; Potter, Weasley, Ginny, Loony Lovegood and Longbottom. He stood on the threshold for a moment, before taking the last seat. A moment before the carriage began to move, Hermione, breathless, turned up in the carriage. "Oh," she said, seeing it was full, looked around confusedly. To everyone's complete surprise, Draco got to his feet and pointed to the now empty seat. Hermione sat down as the carriage started to move and Draco swayed ominously by the door. "Thanks," she muttered. Draco simply nodded. They arrived at the castle and Draco stepped out first and made his solitary way up the castle steps. He really did not want to go to the feast; he was aching all over and didn't think he could stand several hours in the company of Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson. But he had no choice. He did not know where the sixth year prefect's dormitory was. So, feeling dismayed, he turned and walked into the great hall. He took a seat as far away from the three people he was trying to avoid as possible, and sat down next to Blaise Zabini. He had always got on well with Blaise, but had been forbidden to be friends with him, as his family did not support Lord Voldemort. He was a pureblood, but his family were very much against the "purification of the wizarding race", as his father put it, or "brutally torturing and killing all muggles, muggleborns, half blood and blood traitors", as everyone else put it. Blaise smiled as he sat down and then turned to watch as Professor McGonnagal carried the sorting hat into the hall, followed the first year. Draco blanked out as the sorting took place, it didn't interest him in the slightest as he put his best efforts into ignoring the entire first year. His house cheered several times over the next 20 minutes, and then, finally, the sorting hat was taken away and Dumbledore stood up to speak. Draco caught very little of his speech. He heard certain words and phrases, such as "a testing year for all" and "unity is the key to triumph".  
  
Draco heard a applause and then, almost instantaneously the plates before him filled with delicious looking food. Suddenly realising how famished he was, he pulled several dishes towards him, piled his plate high and began to eat. He spoke casually to Blaise during the meal and eventually, when everyone was stuffed full of scrumptious food, they were dismissed. Draco and the other Slytherin prefects led the first years to their dormitories and then returned to the great hall to be directed towards their own. Professor McGonagall took the fifth year prefects to their dormitory, whilst Dumbledore took the sixth years to theirs. Their climbed stairs and walked along corridors for several minutes before they arrived in a rarely- used part of the castle, close to the west tower. A huge canvas hung on the wall at the end of the corridor and, as they arrived, a young-looking wizard with deep blue robes and a feather in his hat stepped into the frame. "Good evening Professor," he said, jovially, "Prefects, I presume?" he said, eyeing the crowd behind Dumbledore.  
  
"Yes, Fabian, prefects, eager to uphold the high standards and enforce the rules of Hogwarts," replied Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye, "the new password is 'phoenix', good night, all."  
  
There was a general murmur of "Goodnight, Professor," from the students and a cordial "Farewell!" from Fabian in the frame, as his portrait sung back to admit the students. The common room before them was magnificent. At one side there was a huge book shelf, filled with volumes ranging in size and content. To the right of the bookcase was a large open fire, surrounded by comfortable-looking arm chairs and a soft furry rug before it. To the left of the room was a long table with chairs around it and in front of the book case were two smaller tables with two chairs each. At the back of the room were two doors, one marked "boys" and the other "girls" the students divided here and made their way up separate, spiralling staircase. They turned off as they each found their own private rooms, with they names on a plaque on the door. Draco's was at the very top of the boys staircase. He and Harry made their way all the way up and found their rooms to be opposite each other. They said nothing to each other as they parted and entered their rooms. Draco looked around and would have been impressed, had he not been so tired. He instantly collapsed onto his green four-poster bed and fell asleep within seconds in the plush sheets, still wearing his school robes. 


	2. Break the Silence

Selah Ex Animo: Thanks so much for the review, I really appreciate it. I see what you mean about the paragraphs...I've tried to improve it for this chapter.  
  
Draco awoke early the next morning, still tired and aching, without a thought to spare for the beautiful room in which he lay. He heaved himself from the comfortable mattress and blinked at the bright, newly minted sun which shone through the window. He pulled off his warm, uncomfortable robes and clothes in which he had slept. He dragged a clean pair of trousers and a t-shirt out of his trunk, and pulled them on, still rubbing his eyes and running his fingers through his hair.  
  
He walked out of his door and to the bottom of the staircase where the boy's bathroom was situated. He walked in a closed the door behind him. The floor gleamed white beneath his feet and reflected the light shining through the window at the opposite end of the room. The walls were pale blue and hung with pictures of seaside scenes. Sunk into the middle of the floor was a fairly large bathtub with dozens of silver taps around the edge. He padded silently across the tiled floor, stripping off his clothes as he went. He stepped into the shower and let the warm water run over his body. He started to feel dizzy in the heat and so sat down on the cool tiles of the floor. There he sat with his eyes closed, feeling the water massage his twisted muscles, shifting every now and then when the jet his an open cut, making it sting.  
  
When he eventually climbed out of the shower, after washing his hair and gently washing around the cuts and bruises on his body, his finger tips were wrinkled from the prolonged exposure to the hot water. The patted his self dry on one of the soft white towels which hung by the sink and pulled his clothes back on. He walked back across the tiles and pulled the door open to see a very disgruntled looking Harry leaning against the wall outside. "'Bout time," he muttered as he pushed past Draco into the bathroom.  
  
Draco made his way slowly back up the stairs and pulled on a clean set of robes from his trunk. He flicked his wand and all of the draws of his dresser flung open. He swished it again and all of his clothes and robes removed themselves from the trunk and landed haphazardly into the draws. He slipped on his boots and walked slowly out of his room and down the stairs into the common room. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was only 7:30; far too early to go down to breakfast, so he seated himself on the comfortable armchair in front of the charred embers of the extinguished fire. Staring at the dust dancing in the sunlight from the open window, which was allowing a pleasantly cool breeze to seep into the room.  
  
When the clock above the fireplace struck 8 o'clock the blond sitting in the chair arose and made his way towards the portrait hole, followed by several other prefects who had just emerged from the dormitories. He arrived in the great hall and sat down at the very end of the long table. He pulled a stack of toast towards him and spread butter thinly over it. He took a bite and slowly chewed it, a pensive look upon his face. He stared at the second piece of toast on his plate, giving it a pleading look, as though wishing it to solve his problems. He sighed and, leaving the toast he had been contemplating so deeply, he began to leave the table. After a moment he remembered he did not yet have his new time table. "Damn it," he thought. He couldn't stand a moment longer sitting at the table, being shot worried glances from his fellow Slytherins, but the timetables were not to be given out for another 20 minutes. Instead he told Blaise to bring it to him in the library before his first class, and, with that, he stalked out of the hall and up to the library. He sat amongst the book shelves reading a book on memory potions he had pulled off the shelf. It was only mildly interesting and he soon was on the search for a more appealing looking book. He came across a book smaller than those around it, thin and leather bound, it didn't look like the other books which all contained complex potions and spells. Just as he was about to open it and take a look, he heard a voice through the peace of the empty library. The sound made him jump, and he soon realised it was his own name being called. He quickly stuffed the small book into his bag and walked to the end of the aisle and found Blaise peering down one of the other rows of books. "Hi," said Draco, causing Blaise to jump slightly. "'Hi," replied Blaise, getting over his surprise, "timetable," he said, holding it out. "Thanks," said Draco, "eugh, double transfiguration first, McGonagall is so unfair to us." "I know, but the Gryffindors get the same from Snape, so it's only reasonable I suppose," reasoned Blaise." "I guess so..." muttered Draco as they made their way towards the transfiguration classroom on the first floor.  
  
Draco paid little attention throughout his classes that morning, his mind was on the book he had been so intrigued by, which was currently residing in his school bag. He didn't know why he was so fascinated by it, all he knew was that he needed to know what was written inside. He spent transfiguration, potions and charms drumming his fingers on his desk, trying to ignore the stabbing pains across his back and thinking more and more intently about what he might find in the mysterious book's pages.  
  
When the bell rang for dinner he did not, like so many other students, stampede towards the great hall, but headed back up to his common room in order examine the book more closely. He gave the password to the beaming Fabian and threw himself down onto the sofa in the common room. He hurriedly rummaged through his bag until he found the small, leather back book, he took a deep breath and opened it to the first page. To his immense surprise, and slight disappointment, he found only one line written there, in elegant, black writing was written;  
  
"One day your screams will break the silence."  
  
He sat, puzzled for a moment, then flicked through the rest of the pages. Nothing. Only that one line in the entire book. Somehow, for an unknown reason, he felt satisfied; this one line was all he needed from this fascinating book. He smiled inwardly to himself and continued to thumb through the practically blank book, despite the large case full of the most interesting book in Hogwarts behind him. After five minutes of sitting there, staring at the eight beautiful words in front of him, he lifted his head to see the portrait swinging back to admit someone. He stared, the book still in his hand, as a flustered looking Hermione Granger appeared in the common room. She glanced at him as she walked over to one of the small tables at the back of the room.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, a little more testily than he meant to.  
  
"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a sixth year prefect too, so I'm entitled to sit in the common room," she answered, glaring at him, "or does His Majesty not want mudblood Granger in his presence?"  
  
"His Majesty really couldn't care less about what mudblood Granger does with her dinner break, he was just wondering to what he owed the pleasure of her company," he drawled, not looking up from the book.  
  
Hermione looked slightly taken aback at his last comment and chose not to reply. Draco finally decided he was hungry and stood up to make his way to the dinner hall. He replaced the book to his bag and swung it over his shoulder, wincing as he did so. Hermione heard his hiss of pain and looked over at him, questioningly. He simply stared at her for several seconds before exiting through the portrait hole. "I'm surprised Granger can stand to be in the same room as me," he mused, as he walked towards the great hall, "after what father and his Deatheaters did last year..."  
  
It was true, of course, that Hermione, Harry and Ron were, to put it lightly, less than friendly towards Malfoy, but so far, he had given them no cause to be malicious and they, therefore, were at a loss of what to do. It would be cowardly and very Slytherin-esque to pick a fight for no reason, with no provocation, so they had decided that the best tactic would be to ignore him as much as possible. Draco did not much mind being ignored. Most people believed that he liked to be the centre of attention, but, most of the time, he would have been much happier if people left him alone. "If only father ignored me," he thought, wistfully, as he sat down to eat.  
  
After double defence against the dark arts that afternoon, with a new teacher, Professor Spark, he trailed slowly back to his common room. Once in his room he removed the small book from his bag. He read the words written on the pages, in twisted, graceful writing, over and over again. Why he was so spellbound by it, he did not know. He reached for his quill from his bag and poised it over the page for several minutes, before beginning to write. He had no idea where the words came from, he just felt that they needed to be said. "Well, I'm not actually saying this am I?" he thought to himself, "maybe I should..."  
  
He mused on this for several more minutes. After going over his words in his head, he considered their consequence. He came to the disappointing conclusion that the satisfaction of speaking his mind, for the first time ever, would probably not be worth the sacrifice. "The sacrifice of my life..." he thought, smirking inwardly, despite the seriousness of what he was thinking.  
  
One day your screams will break the silence 


	3. And he was gone

Thank you Catmint and LPI3 for your reviews, they are very, very, very much appreciated. * Smiles manically*.  
  
I have added another few paragraphs to chapter 2, so depending on when you read it, you might want to check it out again.  
  
I would like to know if people want a Hermione/Draco relationship...cause I am, as of yet, undecided, so your opinions would be very much appreciated.  
  
* kneels and begs *  
  
Oh yeah, and please tell me if it is any easier to read. And there is mild drug use in the chapter so don't read if it offends you in anyway, pretty please, cause I don't want to upset any body.  
  
Your humble "author" xxx  
  
And he was gone ...  
  
That night, while he slept, Draco had a very strange dream.  
  
*** He was lying on his bed at the manor when, suddenly, his window flew open and small pieces of parchment flew through it and swirled around the room. He leapt off his bed and picked one of them up, he stared at it for a moment then let it go quickly when he realised the words were written in blood. He waded through the mass of paper, seeing ominous words jumping out at him from the mass of letters. His door opened and his father stood in the door frame, staring silently at him. Instantly, the parchment flew with immense force. Lucius was knocked clean off his feet. The door swung closed behind him, leaving Draco standing in the room alone.***  
  
He woke up remembering the dream vividly and wondering what it meant..."Hang on," he thought, "what it means? Since when did I believe in all that crap?"  
  
He was searching for a meaning, for some justification for the way he felt...for some kind of solution to his problems...but it wasn't there. There was nothing. No hope. No sun on the horizon. No light at the end of the tunnel. Just dark. Just a doomed life.  
  
In less than two months time he would turn 17. He would receive the Dark Mark. It would be the beginning of the end.  
  
"The end..." he thought to himself, "the end...this really is the end...there is nothing after this. Up until now there was hope, hope of someway out, still time to change, to make things right...but now it's too late"  
  
He wanted to scream, to cry out, to tear himself apart until he was beyond pain...beyond fear...beyond feeling...beyond thought...beyond emotion...beyond life.  
  
He lay there, between the cool sheets for several more minutes before forcing himself to rise from the delusion of comfort. He walked over to the mirror as the far side of the room by the window. He stared at his reflection in the mirror.  
  
He was tall and thin, but well built, probably from years of Quidditch and running for his life frequently. A mass of scars and newly healed wounds criss-crossed his back, stomach and legs, along with countless bruises, marring his pale skin. "Occaeco," he muttered, and his wounds instantly vanished.  
  
The next few weeks passed without great incident. Draco sank deeper into his state of callous dejection which, unbeknown to him, had been noticed by several others within the castle. Not only did Draco fail to realise that others had seen a change in him, he failed to notice that there was a change in him at all. His mind was constantly wandering, so much so that he completely overlooked his responsibility of taunting any non-Slytherins.  
  
In the first week of October was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Draco contemplated whether or not to break from his recent role of self- proclaimed social outcast and accompany the rest of his year to the wizarding village. Eventually he decided that there were several things he needed for school, and other things he just needed. Desperately. So, on the third of October he was to be found slumped against the wall in the entrance hall, waiting to leave for the village. After a few minutes Blaise Zabini wandered across and leant against the wall beside him.  
  
"Feeling alright Malfoy?" he questioned, off-handily, "you seemed a bit...distant recently."  
  
"I'm alright, just been a little preoccupied I guess," Draco answered slowly.  
  
Blaise nodded, but eyed worriedly Draco's tired eyes, paler-than-usual skin and empty, detached expression.  
  
The crowd began to move towards the grounds and Draco and Blaise followed slowly at the back of the group. They meandered down past the lake and out of the gates and made their way towards Hogsmeade. They arrived in the blustery rain street just as rain began to splatter upon the ground. They pulled their cloaks tight about them and bowed their heads against the wind.  
  
"Shall we go to The Three Broomsticks first and warm up a bit?" Blaise suggested through chattering teeth. Draco looked at his wristwatch, "Erm.....it's nearly 11 o'clock, I have to meet some one in a few minutes.," he said, shivering.  
  
"Who are you meeting?" Blaise asked, curiously.  
  
"Just a friend from the village, I need to pick up some things..." Draco trailed off.  
  
"You confuse me more by the minute mate..." Blaise muttered in reply, but followed Draco as the same.  
  
They walked down the street and out of the main part of the village and down a small side street close to the hogshead pub and several other less desirable aspects of the village. At the end of the deserted street a man leant against the stone wall beside the door of what appeared to be a shop selling many different sorts of candles.  
  
"Mal," Draco said sharply as he stopped abruptly before the man.  
  
"Alright Draco," the man replied.  
  
Blaise stood on the sidelines, mildly shocked at the appearance of the man. He was clad in poor robes, patched and frayed in certain places and a very faded colour, which might once have been blue. He was unshaven and had ragged brown hair around shoulder length and he wore a worn greenish hat. He did not look up when he spoke but stared continuously at the floor and dragged heavily on a cigarette.  
  
Draco said nothing but pulled a out his wallet and counted out 15 gold galleons and handed them over to the man who was called Mal. Still the man did not look up from the floor but took the money, thrust it into his pocket and withdrew a small paper bag which he handed over to Draco.  
  
"Thanks a lot mate," said Draco, and a shadow of a grin flashed across his face.  
  
With that, they turned and left, Blaise looking completely bemused.  
  
"Draco, what the hell was that about?" he asked, turning his head back to the space where the man had stood only moments before, then back to Draco.  
  
"He was just doing me a favour," Draco quickly replied.  
  
"What sort of favour," asked Blaise shrewdly, becoming suspicious.  
  
"The sort of favour that saves my life for the next few months," said Draco, shortly. Blaise began to interrupt but was cut short, "Just drop it will you, and stop looking at me like that."  
  
Blaise dropped his eyes to the ground and bit his lip, forcing himself to keep quiet. He was puzzled, but has a hunch about what was going on...  
  
They stopped off at the apothecary to pick up some potion supplies before making their way to The Three Broomsticks to warm up with some butterbeer.  
  
They sat in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, occasionally sipping their drinks before Blaise suddenly broke the unnatural quiet.  
  
"Look Draco, please tell me what's going on, you've been acting differently recently, and now this? What on earth is wrong with you?"  
  
"I have been acting differently but I have not changed. I am just giving up on the act, it isn't worth it any more, and this," he signalled to his pocket in which resided the small, brown packet, "is certainly not new or changed."  
  
Blaise simply gaped. He had always known Draco to be different to what everybody thought, but even he had thought Draco to be conceited, even if he knew he did not believe in the superiority of purebloods as much as everybody thought.  
  
"Let's go back to the castle," said Draco, draining the rest of his glass.  
  
Blaise sat and stared at him for several seconds until Draco snapped his fingers in front of his face.  
  
"Come on man, get moving."  
  
Blaise shook his head slightly and got too his feet, pulling on his cloak as he stood, then followed Draco out of the door into the bitter cold outside, still feeling somewhat dazed.  
  
***  
  
Draco sat in his bedroom later that night, pondering starting his Transfiguration homework, but in stead flicking through that book...  
  
He read over what he had written the previous night, strangely proud of it. He began to write more, again hardly knowing where the words came from. He sat and wrote for hours. Sometimes poetically, sometimes just random thoughts. After hours, although he has by no means run out of things to say, he decided he had better stop before he filled the entire book.  
  
It was now close to 2 o'clock in the morning now, but Draco was by no means tired.  
  
He took the small paper bag which he acquired earlier that day and shook a small amount of the contents into a glass on his bed side table. He filled the glass with water from the jug beside the window and pointed his wand at it. The water soon began to boil. He held it close to his faces and breathed in slowly.  
  
He felt himself becoming light-headed...  
  
The room began to spin...  
  
The colours began to swirl...  
  
The bed he was sitting on began to melt and he fell to the floor...  
  
The walls began to disintegrate before his eyes, forming twisted patterns like melted wax...  
  
He felt something hot on his shoulder and looked up...  
  
Drops of the ceiling were falling down onto him...  
  
He was drowning in a see of soft bliss...  
  
And he was gone...  
  
Notes: the drug Draco is taking is henbane, it's hallucinogenic and can cause a temporary coma, but is not illegal. 


	4. Unexpected

Thank you Catmint and Mourningdove for your wonderful reviews, I really, really appreciate them :D  
  
I think I should mention that I don't own any characters etc. in Harry Potter, not that any of you are stupid enough to think I do, hehehe.  
  
I'm not too sure about this chapter...I don't think it's quite true to Draco's character, so I may decide to change it later, I would value your opinion. Thanks.  
  
Draco awoke the next day to find the evening, autumn sun pouring through his translucent green curtains. He groaned, squeezed his eyes shut again and rolled over, covering his head under the duvet, wondering, even in his sleepy state, how he got into bed. A few moments later he emerged, facing away from the window, and opened his eyes. He looked at the clock on his bed side table. A quarter to six. "Jesus, I slept a long time..." Draco thought, before hauling himself up on his elbow and rubbing his eyes. It was then that he noticed a piece of paper lying on the table in front of the clock. He picked the scrap of parchment up and read the untidy, slanted script upon it.  
  
Draco,  
  
It's about 10 in the morning, I came up here 'cause you didn't show up for breakfast, hope you don't mind. You look pretty wiped to me, and you didn't wake up when I got you off the floor and put you on your bed (sorry mate, but I draw the line at putting you in your jim-jams and kissing you good night)...so I figure you should sleep for a while. See you at dinner,  
  
Blaise  
  
Draco laughed slightly and then noticed that there was another scrap of parchment on the table, beside where the other one had been. He picked it up and saw the same writing as was on the previous note.  
  
Jesus, you sleep for a long time. It's now about 3pm. I contemplated the thought that you might be dead, but I just checked and you're breathing just fine, so not worries...I daresay you didn't remember, but you said we'd go out on the Quidditch pitch today for some pre-season practice, so if you fancy waking up anytime, let me know. I think you've slept for long enough now, by the way, but I tried waking you and I can't. If you stop breathing or anything, I swear I'll call Snape...you have been warned. If you're not up by dinner, I will not hesitate to use force. Be afraid.  
  
Draco laughed again at the insane ramblings of his friend and began to lift himself out of bed, just as there was a faint knock and his door opened. It was Blaise.  
  
"Man, Draco, you've been asleep all bloody day," he said, "I was starting to get worried."  
  
"You'll make a wonderful mother, one day, do you know that?" Draco replied, mockingly.  
  
Blaise responded by hurling a pillow at him.  
  
"God I need a shower, these clothes feel horrible..." said Draco, ripping off his t-shirt.  
  
"Yeah, sorry about that, like I said in the note, I'm fine with tucking you in, but I refuse to put you in your jammies," said Blaise with a smirk.  
  
"Shut up," said Draco, but smiled slightly all the same.  
  
"So," Blaise began, "what's wrong with you?"  
  
"What do you mean, what's wrong with me, I'm fine," answered Draco, looking slightly dubious.  
  
"Oh yeah? When have you ever slept until six in the evening before?" asked Blaise.  
  
"Last time I took that," Draco replied, signalling to the cup on the floor by his bed and the dark patch around it which was all that was left of what it once held.  
  
"What is that?" said Blaise, eyeing it suspiciously.  
  
"Henbane," answered Draco, and, seeing Blaise open his mouth to speak, "no it isn't illegal, well not exactly..."  
  
Blaise raised an eyebrow at him, "Oh yeah? Then why did we have to sneak off down that dodgy alley to get it?"  
  
"Because, firstly, it's only allowed prescribed by Mungo's, and second, I don't think the Higher Power known as Snape would be all too happy about it, do you? And Mal doesn't want everyone seeing anyway, he only gets it for me as a special favour, he's not really meant to have it and he doesn't want too many people knowing," Draco explained.  
  
"Fair enough...but isn't it-" Blaise began.  
  
"Would you shut up with the lectures?" Draco said, starting to sound annoyed.  
  
Blaise stared at the foot of Draco's bed.  
  
"Stop worrying about me okay? Really, man, I'm bloody fine," Draco said, sounding exasperated.  
  
It was then that Draco reached for a glass of water on his bedside table and Blaise saw the fading cuts on the underside of his pale arm.  
  
**********  
  
That night, at close to midnight, Draco could be found sitting before the fire in the common room, writing with vigour in his book. The rest of the prefects were in bed, as far as he was aware, and so he prepared himself for an undisturbed night alone. He wouldn't be going to sleep; he slept little under normal circumstances, but he had not awoken until six hours previously and so was expecting to be awake most of the night.  
  
He was thinking as he wrote,(and cut deep, vertical lines down his forearm), about his upcoming initiation into the circle of deatheaters. It was getting closer by the day, Draco could hardly stand the thought of it, it was like a tonne-weight, pressing on his chest, stopping him breathing.  
  
His hands began to shake as he thought of it and he stopped writing, because his script was becoming nearly illegible.  
  
He stood up and walked in front of the fire, the intense heat felt strange on his cold hands. The warmth threatened to make him feel even more suffocated, so he moved over to the window and leant out, looking down onto the grass below, seeing the Quidditch pitch and the Forbidden Forest in the distance. The night air was cool and refreshing. He took several deep breaths and felt the weight begin to leave his chest, his hands stopped shaking, and the oppressive heat left his body.  
  
He turned back around with the intention of going back to writing, but was stopped in his tracks when he saw a figure standing by the sofa, staring down at the open book he had left there. His eyes opened wide and he flung himself forwards to shut it. The girl standing there jumped in surprise as the thing she has been staring at was snatched away so swiftly. She looked up and met livid, dark grey eyes.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" he said, and now she looked closer, his eyes weren't so much angry as ...scared.  
  
"I...I'm sorry..." she stuttered, "I, I didn't realise..."  
  
"What did you read?" Draco asked her quietly, as she sat down on the sofa, one elbow on the arm rest and her head in one hand.  
  
He sat down at the other side of the seat, one leg resting on the other, the book clutched to his chest, staring intently at the girl.  
  
"Nothing...I...well..."  
  
"Please, don't lie to me," he said, and, for the first time ever, he looked almost hurt.  
  
She was too taken aback to speak at once, but, finally, after what seemed like an age of staring, wide eyed and open mouthed at him, she cleared her throat and spoke in a somewhat broken voice.  
  
"All...alright, I, I did see something," she began, hesitantly, "I saw something about the deatheaters, and an initiation ceremony and...and blood stains..."  
  
Her eyes flashed to the scars across Draco's arm, and the fresh, slightly bleeding cuts that he had made with a penknife in a fit of despair and adrenaline only minutes before.  
  
She looked at him, with an expression he had never seen from her before...  
  
"Stop it," he said, sharply.  
  
"Stop what, I didn't do anything," she said, sounding confused.  
  
"Pity," he spat, "the worst thing you can do to someone is pity them, and you're doing it to me right now."  
  
"Actually," she said, sounding a little hurt, "I don't pity you, I happen to agree with you."  
  
And when he looked at her in questioning, she continued, "That to pity is the worst thing you can do. If you feel sorry for someone, it implies that you feel there is something wrong with them or their life which deserves your sympathy. It doesn't help anyone's situation, it just makes them feel worse."  
  
He looked at her with a calculating expression, trying to work out whether she was being serious or not. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that she must be...the look in her eye was not pity...it was...a sort of...understanding?  
  
"No way," thought Draco, "how could she, of all people, understand me...no one does."  
  
The truth was, she did not, even to a slight extent understand him, she had not been through the same tortures he had, although she had been through tortures of a kind. And he had, once again, mistaken her expression. It was not pity, or understanding, but acceptance. Acceptance that she could not judge, nor could she understand.  
  
"So," she said, tentatively, "what is that?"  
  
She was referring to the book, still held tightly to Draco's chest. He looked down at it then said, "Just a book that I write in sometimes..." he muttered.  
  
"Judging by the fact that it's well over half full, it isn't only sometimes", she thought to herself.  
  
He sat there, silently, for a while, watching the fire, and feeling her gaze on him. "Why am I even putting up with her being here?" he asked himself.  
  
A moment later he answered, "Because she knows now...and she hasn't flipped yet...and...and...I don't mind her company."  
  
Draco felt a odd sensation, at this realisation.  
  
They sat for a while, on the sofa, in front on the fire, the female basking in the warmth of the fire, and the male enjoying the cool breeze from the window.  
  
Eventually he spoke, "So, why were you out of bed so late any way? What happened to being little miss perfect?"  
  
"Firstly, I never was 'little miss perfect'," Draco smirked at this, "and secondly, I was just out for a walk in the grounds, felt like some night time air..."  
  
"I know the feeling..." he muttered, remembering the constricted feeling in his chest, and the relief at the cool fresh air.  
  
"You know, Draco, I'm starting to worry about you," she said, looking at him and making him nervous for a moment, "you haven't thrown one damn insult yet, and I was expecting you to tell me to 'piss off' the moment you saw me."  
  
"Yeah well, I haven't quite summoned up the energy yet, sorry, would you prefer it if I did?"  
  
"It would stop me feeling so bloody uncomfortable, I suppose," she said with a slight smile, showing perfectly white, straight teeth.  
  
"I'm not in the mood," he said, smiling as well.  
  
He was still thinking about his father, the deatheaters, his doomed life...but, for a moment, in that small common room, with a relaxing breeze, a warm fire and an attractive female...it didn't seem like much could harm him at that moment. He shifted slightly on the seat and felt the edge of a cushion press against some ancient bruise. That made him remember. He could be harmed. Seriously harmed. "But not right now", he thought, "so just enjoy being relaxed, without drugs, without sex, without cutting..."  
  
So there he sat, becoming more relaxed by the second, getting over the fact that he was sitting in such close proximity to one of his most loathed enemies.  
  
Eventually, both fell asleep, sitting there in front of the fire. Morning came and the other pupils began to emerge from the dormitories. They were both still deep in slumber when Harry rushed down the stairs heading to the bathroom. He was almost at the door, when he did a double take.  
  
He walked closer to them, to check what he was seeing was real. When he had determined that it was, he was not the least bit pleased. However, he was even more confused, and walked in to the bathroom that morning, his head buzzing with questions.  
  
Just as Harry closed the door, Draco woke up and began to yawn and stretch. His hand came into contact with something that felt suspiciously like another person, he opened his eyes fully and realised he had his hand on Hermione's leg. He quickly withdrew it, smiled slightly and slowly dragged himself up stairs. 


	5. Bronze

Ok...new chapter, sorry it took a while. The next chapter will occur on the same day as this one...but I split it up for some reason. It will be posted soon hopefully, and will be much shorter than this one. Hope you enjoy it.  
  
I don't own any of these characters, (the phrase, "well duh," springs to mind...)  
  
Thank you Catmint and elanorevenstar for your lovely reviews. smiles  
  
Anyhoo, hope this chapter was worth the wait.  
  
Hermione awoke fifteen minutes later to find Harry tapping her on the shoulder. She groaned and rolled over, forgetting that she was lying on the sofa. She caught herself just in time and swung her feet onto the floor.  
  
"Hermione, you'd better hurry up, it's nearly 8 o'clock," said Harry, choosing to wait until she was more awake to mention the Malfoy incident.  
  
She leapt to her feet, dashed up the staircase and appeared seconds later, carrying her robes and a towel, and ran into the vacant bathroom.  
  
Two weeks passed and Draco and Hermione's night time meetings happened several times. They both pretended it was accidental, but there was something a little too coincidental in the way they managed to keep meeting late at night in the common room when everyone else was sleeping.  
  
One Saturday, half way through October, just over two weeks after their first meeting, was the first Quidditch match of the season; Gryffindor versus Slytherin.  
  
Both teams had been practicing hard for several weeks before hand and each were very confident of victory. Slytherin being particularly keen to beat Gryffindor as they had not won a match against them in so long, which was very damaging to their pride.  
  
Draco awoke to a bright morning, blustery and clear with a golden sun in the sky, tinting the lake and the forest with bronze. He could see the hoops on the Quidditch pitch glinting gold, and the grass around shining with dew.  
  
The day seemed somewhat...deceptive to him, if he had to think of a word. Everything looked beautiful in the sunlight, warm and safe. But he knew that when he stepped out side it would be bitter cold. The wind would whip his face raw, the icy cold would bite at his hands. There was an odd feel to the day, he thought as he pushed himself from his bed, like the weather, the landscape, the atmosphere around him, everything, was trying to lure him into a false sense of security, with it's beautiful, glowing exterior, he was sure that everything was not what it seemed.  
  
He pulled on his Quidditch robes and headed down the stairs. There was no one in the common room, but a few sounds of life could be heard from above. Draco looked at the clock and realised that he had half an hour to wait until breakfast. He sunk down on one of the comfortable chairs, after pulling a book entitled "Ancient Alchemists and their Discoveries," and began to read, only partially paying attention to the words on the page.  
  
Eventually, when he had become thoroughly bored with reading of Paracelus, he turned to the clock and decided it was almost a reasonable time for breakfast.  
  
By now, several people had arrived in the common room and some had already left for the great hall. Harry sped down the stairs several minutes later at around nine o'clock, ran immediately up the girl stair case and emerged several minutes later dragging a very tousled-looking Hermione by the wrist.  
  
"Good luck today, Draco," she said, as she rushed past. He simply raised an eyebrow and imagined how displeased Potter would be that she had said that.  
  
After a few more minutes he followed them down to the Great Hall and took his now usual seat next to Blaise at the very end of the table. They were both wearing their green Quidditch robes, eating a little slower and talking a little less than usual. They sat in the Great Hall until around a quarter past ten, when they went back to their separate dormitories to prepare for the match in their own ways.  
  
Draco sat on his bed, his head in his hands, thinking about the match ahead. His feeling about the day, the deceiving, slightly unnatural atmosphere, was still strong and it made him uncomfortable.  
  
"...Jesus I'm being melodramatic..." he thought.  
  
He scratched his nails down his arms, clutching and tearing at his skin, drawing blood, shaking with anxiety. He barely knew why he was so nervous about the match; he could win, he knew he could. He was confident.  
  
So what on earth was making him panic?  
  
Thirty minutes later he was standing before his team in the Slytherin changing rooms, 5 minutes before the match.  
  
"Right," he said, "Just win"  
  
End of pep talk.  
  
They flew out to the sound of their names being called over loud cheers, and plenty boo's.  
  
After a few seconds of scanning the stands around him, Draco found what he knew was the source of his dread of the day. His father sat high up in the stands next to Snape, looking haughtily down on the people below him. He caught Draco's eye and gave him a threatening sneer.  
  
Draco took a deep breath and stared straight back, his face indifferent. After several moments he realised that he should be hunting for the snitch, as Potter was doing, instead of hovering, transfixed by the monster of his nightmares, which had appeared, once again, very real.  
  
He swiftly turned his broom around and noted that the score was now 10-0 to Slytherin. He sped toward the opposite end of the pitch and hovered close to the Gryffindor goal posts, watching, searching, his eyes roving for a glint of gold.  
  
The match continued, he and Potter circling above the game, like eagles hunting for prey, hidden in the grass below. The rest of the Slytherins were playing very well, preventing the Gryffindors from scoring, and attacking brilliantly. An hour later the score was 50-30. they could win this...but the game was going slowly, Draco needed to catch the snitch soon before his team got tired and the Gryffindors could catch up. Another thirty minutes passed and six more goals were scored...  
  
Then, he saw it, at the other end of the pitch, hovering high above the goal posts. He headed after it, hoping Potter wouldn't notice. But he did. He darted upwards towards it, just as it began to dart downwards and forwards, in the opposite direction to which Draco and Harry were travelling. They both brought their brooms to a grinding halt and turned around at light-speed. They began to race, Harry lower to the ground, Draco high above, the snitch far ahead and somewhere in between. The gap between them was becoming less and less, they were closing in on it. Draco was concentrating so hard on getting to it, but, out of the corner of his eye he saw his Lucius and Snape in the stands. He couldn't help but turn his head slightly and look at the expression on Lucius' face. In the split second he looked, it turned from anticipation to disgust. Draco turned his eyes back. Harry's fingers closed around the snitch. "Shit," he thought.  
  
He heard the commentary over the roar of the ecstatic Gryffindors, announcing 200-90 to Gryffindor...they had been so close to winning...  
  
"And it was my fault we lost...if only I had concentrated for one more moment...I thought I had it won...but no, father had to be there, as always, watching, judging..." Draco's train of though ceased as he hit the ground.  
  
Gryffindors were running on to the pitch, leaping on potter and his friends, shouting and yelling. They were giving Draco a headache, all he wanted was to get off the pitch, away from the disappointed stares of the Slytherins, and his father.  
  
He slipped away into the changing rooms, closely followed by his team mates, all of whom were looking annoyed and avoiding speaking to him. He sighed to himself, it was only the first game of the season and already he'd lessened their chances of winning the cup.  
  
"Why do I always screw things up? I could have, should have, won that...but I didn't, there's always something stopping me, and it's always the same bloody thing," he thought as he pulled off his robes.  
  
Draco couldn't quite bring himself to head back up to the castle just yet, it was only just past 2 o'clock and dinner wouldn't be for a few hours. Plus, he wasn't all too keen to bring forward the moment when he would have to confront Lucius.  
  
He exited the changing rooms with rest of his team mates, but did not follow them back towards the doors to the castle. Instead he headed for the lake, where he hoped he would be slightly sheltered from the biting wind. The surface of the lake was glowing brilliantly in the orange sun and the leaves of the trees bordering the water were swaying violently, making the branches look like long, threatening arms. Draco's feeling of unease had increased since the morning, although now he had a reason for it, it was, strangely enough, not so worrying.  
  
He wandered down to a willow tree on the back and pushed aside it's trailing branches. The sat down on the cold. Slightly damp grass and leant against the trunk of the tree, his back to the castle. The branches formed a green curtain all around him, hiding him from view. The bright sun pierced the leafy wall and lit up ground around him. It was cold where he was sitting, but Draco wasn't bothered by it, it was refreshing and helped to clear his mind.  
  
Every now and then a strong gust of wind blew back the veil of leaves and he caught a glimpse of the blazing sun, tinting the world bronze as it sank ever lower in the west. "It must be nearly 6 o'clock..." thought Draco as he sat in the twilight. The sun was now a red rim on the horizon, casting ruby rays across the darkening earth. He sighed and lifted himself up off the cold ground. He pulled back the draping leaves and stepped out into the open, breathing deeply and stretching, like a cat, awakening after several hours in pleasant dreams in it's favourite sun spot.  
  
He padded lightly back up towards the castle, dwelling once again on thoughts of the match and his father, which had left him whilst he sat under the tree.  
  
A few minutes later he arrived before the oak front doors, without, as he had been lost in his thoughts, knowing how he had gotten there. He heaved them open and made his way across the empty entrance hall to the Great Hall, his steps echoing around the vast chamber. The doors of the hall were open and, as he approached them, he saw Snape hurry down from the teacher's table towards him. Draco began to walk towards the Slytherin table, but was met by his head of house before he got there.  
  
He looked not a little infuriated with Draco and spoke in sharp, clipped tones.  
  
"Your father is waiting in my office Draco he wishes to have a-" he sneered slightly "chat with you. I don't think it would be wise to keep him waiting any longer," he finished, turn on his heel and returned to the other end of the hall.  
  
Draco sighed and turned in the opposite direction. Snape clearly knew that his father was in a bad mood, knew that he was going to be in big trouble...but did he care? Like hell he did. Draco may have been his favourite student, but he was still furious that he had lost the match.  
  
Draco descended the stairs to the dungeon and the air grew colder. He was sure that it was colder than usual. "It must be the presence of my dear father..." Draco thought, sarcastically.  
  
He arrived at Snape's office and knocked. "Yes?" said his father's cold voice.  
  
He reached out for the handle and turned it, his sweaty hand slipping against the cold metal.  
  
He push the door open and stepped into the room, closing it behind him.  
  
"Professor Snape said you wanted to see me, father," Draco stated as the door clicked shut, sealing him in the room.  
  
"Yes, well I actually wanted to see you several hours ago, but, unfortunately for both me and you, although probably more for you, you decided to disappear for four hours, so I have had to wait around here, whilst there are a million other very important things I could have been doing," Lucius said, his voice was low and cold and wreathed in fury, in Draco's experience, when his father spoke in this way he was much more angry than when he shouted. Draco did not answer straight away, but directed his eyes towards the floor. Eventually he spoke quietly, "I'm sorry, I just went for a walk around the grounds."  
  
"Avoiding me, are you Draco?" Lucius said, silkily, "And I thought you would have wanted to see your father, after being away for so many weeks."  
  
Draco had no reply to this, except to inwardly seethe over the cruel sarcasm in this statement.  
  
"So, know that you've finally decided to show your face, we should get on with why I've been waiting here for four hours, shouldn't we?" he smiled, sardonically. "First things first, I would like to congratulate you on your performance today, Draco," his voice was becoming increasingly sweeter and Draco knew that he was very close to exploding, "I honestly never would have believed that you could disappoint me any more, apparently I was wrong. What do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
Draco hesitated, then said in a barely audible voice, "We nearly won...I just got distracted...I'm sorry," he finished, weakly.  
  
Lucius raised an eyebrow, "You're sorry...sorry for what exactly?" he began, softly, Could it be, for being a pathetic excuse for a Malfoy? Or for disappointing me yet again? Or for not caring that I have devoted my entire life for the past 17 years to bringing you up, and still you cannot do one bloody thing right!" he yelled, looking livid, and gripped Draco's face by his jaw and slapped him hard.  
  
Lucius released him and turned his back.  
  
Draco wanted to ask why he cared so much? Why it was so important? Why couldn't he just be proud of him for playing a good game, for becoming captain of the Quidditch team, for becoming a prefect and for doing everything his father had ever asked of him to the best of his abilities? But it wouldn't matter what he said, Lucius would always find something to get at him about, it didn't matter what, and answering back would only give him another reason.  
  
He rubbed his cheek and stared at the floor. Without warning, Lucius swung around and struck Draco across the face with the cane he held in his hand. A red weal emerged from his eye to his mouth and he gritted his teeth against the pain. He lifted his head up and stared at his father. Lucius responded by hitting him the stomach with the silver-serpent, causing him to double over and drop to his knees. Lucius stood above him and looked down, Draco lifted his head and looked his father in the eye. Lucius raised and eyebrow and said, "I do hope I'm getting through to you boy," then struck him several times across his back. Draco groaned but did not flinch or cry out.  
  
He ceased the blows and Draco knelt, motionless on the floor.  
  
"There was one more thing that I heard from your friends, Vincent and Gregory, which, I have to be honest Draco, I'm not the least bit pleased about," Lucius said, icily, Draco looked up at him, trying to think what he could have done wrong now, and Lucius continued, "That Zabini boy, they say you've been seeing a lot of him, sitting with him at dinner, inviting him to your common room and such, they say they've hardly seen you in months. I wont allow it Draco, I have already made my feelings quite clear about that boy, you may as well become best friends with that Mudblood Granger if you're going to be friends with him. Understood? You are not to speak to him again, we don't want him putting any dangerous ideas into your pretty little head, do we?" he finished, striking Draco across the back of his head with the cane.  
  
"So," said Lucius in a business-like manner, "now we have that over, there is something else I wish to speak with you about. And get up, you pathetic child."  
  
Draco knelt up and pushed himself to his feet. He put a hand out and leant against the desk to his left. Lucius began to pace up and down in front of him.  
  
"As you should be aware, you're 17th birthday is in two weeks time," Draco gritted his teeth; he knew what was coming, "you shall return home on Friday, your birthday, and your initiation shall take place the next day, on Halloween."  
  
He relinquished his pacing and stopped and looked at Draco, who was doing his best to hide his pain.  
  
"You are to be on your best behaviour, I want no arguments, no insolence, you are to be polite and obedient, am I perfectly clear?" Lucius said, threateningly.  
  
"Yes, sir," said Draco, stiffly, resisting the temptation to salute.  
  
"Do not disappoint me again, Draco, I cannot afford for you to mess this up and undo all that I have done to get this great opportunity for you, be warned, mistakes will not be tolerated," Lucius said, walking imposingly towards Draco.  
  
Draco breathed heavily, desperately wanting to say something, but instead he simply nodded.  
  
"Good, well I'm a very busy man, Draco, and you need to be at the feast. He walked over to the door, opened it and signalled for him to leave.  
  
Draco moved away from the desk and walked tentatively over to the door, wincing slightly as he walked. Lucius glowered at him and he removed any sign of pain from his face. As Draco stepped out of the door his father said, "Draco, you're bleeding, clean your face before you go to the feast."  
  
"Yes, father," Draco muttered and wiped away blood from the corner of his mouth. There were marks on his face, and, although they could not be seen, on his back, so he reached into his bag and drew out a small vial of concealing potion and drank a small sip. His injuries instantly disappeared, but the pain did not. Lucius nodded and continued to walk. Both reached the entrance hall and Draco turned away into the Great Hall for the feast, and his father, having ensured that Draco had not gone elsewhere, returned to Snape's office in order to use the fire to return him home.  
  
As Draco walked into the Great hall, he was greeted by a mass of smug faces at the Gryffindor table, and annoyed ones at the Slytherin table. He sat down at the end closest to the door, next to Blaise. He alone seemed to be please to see Draco, and smiled as he sat down, and poured him a glass of pumpkin juice. The meal was already in session, so Draco's arrival had been more inconspicuous than he had hoped. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry, so he buttered himself a few slices of bread and was content.  
  
"Where did you disappear to after the match? I thought you were following us back to the castle?" Blaise asked, after a few moments.  
  
"I just went down to the lake, then my father wanted to talk to me, you know..." he muttered, trailing off into incoherence at the end.  
  
Blaise nodded, understanding, almost entirely. He knew that Draco, along with most of the rest of his house, were expected to join the Deatheaters at 17 or 18 years old. He himself was glad that his family, however much they got on his nerves, were not Deatheaters and neither was he expected to be. He often wondered how on earth he ended up in Slytherin, but then again, he did possess many of Salazar's favoured qualities and was a pureblood.  
  
Out of all the members of his house, it was Draco he pitied the least. The rest were following blindly in their parents' footsteps, and not even considering that there was the slightest possibility it could be wrong. No, out of all of them Draco was defiantly one of the best off, for he had the sense to think for himself, and although he may have viewed this as somewhat of a curse, Blaise thought it was a gift, even if it did result in harsh consequences for Draco, he was sure Azkaban, where the rest would end up, would be much worse. If only Draco had the sense to do something about his fate, instead of accepting a doomed life.  
  
He wondered if Draco did wish that he was blissfully ignorant, like the rest of the Slytherins, to the fact that following Voldemort was defiantly not the right way to go. It would certainly be much easier for him...he wouldn't have to worry about right or wrong, about displeasing his father, about standing up for himself... But in Blaise's opinion, understanding was always preferable to ignorance, and, although he did not know it, Draco was grateful for his open mind, even if it did cause him problems he didn't need.  
  
"You alright, Draco? You're really quiet..." Blaise asked, after a few minutes of silence.  
  
"What? Oh yeah, I'm fine just thinking..." he trailed off.  
  
"So what did Lucius say?" asked Blaise.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well...you're thinking a hell of a lot...and you don't look too happy. So what happened?"  
  
Draco heaved a sigh and said, "Oh, you know, the usual...he threw a hissy-fit 'cause I didn't win the match," he look apologetically at Blaise, who smiled, and continued, "he threatened me for a while, "informed" me of my initiation, threatened me some more...oh and he told me I'm not allowed to talk to you again,"  
  
"Ah...well you'd better shut up then mate," said Blaise, half serious, half mocking.  
  
"Don't be thick, I spent five years hardly talking to you 'cause I listened to my father, I'm not doing it any more, I don't care what he does to me, it's not like he can make things much worse," Draco signed, speaking the last part, mainly to himself, sounding hopeless.  
  
He was thinking about what would happen in two weeks time again...the beginning of the end...or maybe it could just be...the end... 


	6. Reactions

Ok, kind of a weird chapter...I think anyway. Thank you for your reviews ( All appreciated. Tell me what you think of this please. Oh an I've made the story R rated...just to be safe cause I'm slightly paranoid.  
  
The meal ended and Dumbledore bade them all goodnight. Draco scraped back his chair and, looking down at the uneaten bread on his plate, followed the rest of the school out of the hall. He walked the automatic steps towards his Common Room, saying good bye to Blaise on the second floor and eventually ending up in a corridor with only the other sixth year prefects. Draco was the first to arrive at the Portrait Hole, gave the password to a beaming Fabian and walked in.  
  
He blanked out Pansy's annoyed "humph" as he pushed her out of the way and continued to walk towards the stairs. He ignored Harry's smug "Bad luck today, Malfoy," and opened his door.  
  
Draco walked into his room and leant with his back against the door breathing deeply for several moments. Suddenly, he turned around and kicked the door hard, stormed over to the book shelf and booted that too, sending books flying everywhere. He walked slowly over to his bedside cabinet, opened the draw and pulled out a knife. He slowly drew a vertical line along the inside of his arm. The blood oozed out, and with it, he felt the tension leaving him. He breathed for a minute, his muscles relaxed slightly, his body still shaking, then flung himself on to the bed. There he lay for at least an hour, awake and thinking. After a while, he fell into a troubled sleep, his nightmares barely worse than his waking thoughts had been.  
  
Eventually he lifted his head from the pillow and hauled himself to his feet. It was pitch black outside, apart from the waxing moon which was spreading a milky glow through his window. He looked at his watch. One a.m.  
  
He pulled his wand out and pointed it at each of the candles in turn, muttering "flaminium" as he did so. Slowly, the room filled with light, and Draco stripped off his robes and his t-shirt and walked over to the window. The room was hot and stuffy and the breeze was pleasant on his skin.  
  
There he stood, basking in the light of the moon and the chill of the air. Once he was cool, he turned away from the window, made his way to his bedside draw and began to rummage around. Firstly, he pulled out the small brown paper bag, checked it's contents, and returned it to the draw. There was very little left, and it would be more urgently needed in the future. He then pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and placed it beside him on the floor.  
  
He grabbed a small book and quill from inside the draw, picked up the bottle, pushed the draw shut and left the room, without even blowing out the candles or putting on a shirt.  
  
He made his way down the stair case and into the common room, where the embers of the dying fire were still struggling, glowing weakly, occasionally emitting a spark of life and a raspy crackle.  
  
He flung himself down on the settee, wincing slightly as he did so, opened the book and began to scribble, occasionally taking a swig of the liquid from inside the bottle. The clock chimed two and he raised himself from the sofa and walked to the open window, bottle in hand.  
  
He rested his arms against the windowsill and leant out, humming softly to himself and swinging the bottle in front of him. Below him he could see the outskirts of the forbidden forests, swaying serenely in the breeze and further off in the distance, he could see the black shape of the Quidditch pitch.  
  
He looked down and his left arm which was holding the drink. The long gash down his arm was healing over. He rubbed his fingernails along it, feeling the stinging sensation renewed. He took a large swig from the bottle and screwed his face up against the burning feeling in his throat. He took deep breaths of cool air to soothe the pain  
  
After a few minutes he heard a voice behind him saying, "Aren't you cold, it's freezing out there."  
  
He turned around and there was Hermione standing with her back to the fire, dressed in pyjama shorts and a t-shirt. She was shivering slightly, despite the fire.  
  
"Well, fancy seeing you here!" Draco exclaimed, drunkenly, lifting his arms towards her. It was then that she noticed the gash down his arm and the half empty bottle in his hand. "Come, join me in a bottle of...whatever this is," he said, patting the seat beside him as he flung himself onto the sofa and lifting the bottle up.  
  
Hermione sat down, but shook her head to the drink.  
  
"Draco?" Hermione said, hesitantly.  
  
"Mmmmmm?" said Draco, who was staring intently at the liquid in the bottle, which was reflecting the fire light.  
  
"What happened to your arm?"  
  
"Where?" he said inspecting it.  
  
"There," said Hermione, pointing.  
  
"That...! Just call it a product of teenage angst, parental aggression, blind stupidity, whatever you like."  
  
She raised an eyebrow and stared closely at his arm. Before her very eyes, more marks appeared. Some raised and red, some scabbed and some simply white lines.  
  
"Draco, what-?" she began.  
  
"Dammit..." he muttered, "stupid potion...there's no way it's been eight hours..."  
  
"What are you talking about?" she said, sounding confused, but at that moment he stood up and she gasped.  
  
"How the hell did that happen!" she said, staring at his back and grabbing onto the arm which was unharmed.  
  
He turned around and her eyes widened in shock. His face was scarred in several places, there was a violent red stripe across one cheek, a blackening eye and several bruises.  
  
He took another drink and said slowly, "Please let go of my arm, I need to go take some more potion."  
  
"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what happened to you!" she said, sounding slightly hysterical.  
  
"I'd really rather not..." he replied, softly, swaying slightly and taking another swig.  
  
"You don't have a choice in the matter," she said, firmly, and pushed him down onto the sofa once again.  
  
He sighed deeply and allowed himself to be seated.  
  
"They didn't get there by accident," she began, "and you might have cut your own arms, but you didn't beat yourself up, so tell me who did, if you're being bullied I can go to Dumbledore, he wouldn't stand for it you know-"  
  
Draco began to laugh and she stopped abruptly.  
  
"What?" she said, sounding slightly affronted.  
  
"Hermione, who in this school would have the bottle to bully me?" he said, still sounding amused, "and anyway, I thought you knew...you read my notebook...didn't you?"  
  
"I got a glimpse of it for like..10 seconds, I hardly read it cover to cover..." she said, sounding uncertain.  
  
"Oh...well I figured a smart little witch like you must have put two and two together...apparently I'm smarter than I thought," he said, sounding sardonically pleased.  
  
"So are you going to keep complimenting me, or are you going to enlighten me?" she asked, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow.  
  
He sighed again and took another drink.  
  
"Do you get on with your parents?" he asked her suddenly, after a few minutes.  
  
She looked warily at him and then answered, "I suppose so..."  
  
"Well I don't," he said, shortly.  
  
"Wait...your parents did that to you...?" she questioned as blood oozed from his shoulder and a bruise throbbed sinisterly. "Parent. Singular. I only have one parent," he said, staring at the floor.  
  
"You...but...what?"  
  
"My mother died when I was four, Hermione," he said, softly, showing no emotion on the subject.  
  
"I...I never knew, I'm so sorry-"  
  
"You didn't kill her so don't fucking apologise," he spat, viciously.  
  
She looked slightly taken aback, then composed her self and said, tentatively, "So...who was it who did that to you then...?" she trailed off.  
  
"You know Hermione, I honestly thought you were smart."  
  
"Would you just answer me straight!" she said, becoming agitated.  
  
"Look, I really don't want to talk about this ok, it isn't important..." he said, timidly.  
  
Hermione looked as if she was about to cry, "Please Draco, tell me, I don't like seeing you like this, it's...it's scary. I might be able to help," she said, sadly.  
  
"Look Hermione, my father's a deatheater, he's hardly one to send me to bed with no supper as a punishment, is he? And you can't help, no one can..." he said, softly.  
  
"Yes they could! It isn't right Draco, you shouldn't stand for it!" she said, sounding choked.  
  
"What do you mean I shouldn't stand for it? What exactly can I do about it?"  
  
"You could stand up to him! Fight back!" she said, full of furious determination.  
  
Draco shook his head slowly and looked as if he could not believe what he was hearing.  
  
"Stand up to him....fight back...?" he muttered.  
  
In a split second he was on his feet, "Fight back!" he yelled, and before she could say another word, he has struck her across the face and she was sprawled on the floor, "Come on Hermione! Stand up against someone who's twice and powerful as you, who would kill you in a second if you gave them a reason! Come on, fight back!"  
  
He stood, breathing heavily, still angry...and slowly, she got to her feet and walked tentatively towards him.  
  
She got closer and closer, he was still full of rage that he felt like venting, but she didn't give him the chance.  
  
She was now so close he could hear her breathing. She stopped a few inches in front of him and looked up. She raised her hand and tilted his face towards her own.  
  
He wasn't aware of what was happening, only that, next moment, their lips had touched. She could taste the alcohol in his mouth and wondered, had he been entirely sober, would he have pushed her away by now?  
  
She kissed him gently for several moments and then she pulled slowly away.  
  
She looked up at him and smiled, "I think I fought back," she said softly, and sat down again.  
  
He lowered himself onto the sofa beside her and looked guiltily at the red mark upon her cheek.  
  
"Yeah, but I don't think my father would react too well if I did that to him, would he?" he said, weakly.  
  
"That really wasn't the reaction I expected..."  
  
"What did you expect me to do?" she asked, lightly.  
  
"I don't know, slap me back...run away? Anything but that..."  
  
"Are you complaining?" she said, her eye brows raised.  
  
"No," he said, grinning.  
  
"But I was serious Hermione, fight back? Have you ever actually met my father?"  
  
"Of course I have..."  
  
"Then how the hell do you expect me to stand up to him?" he asked, incredulously.  
  
"Well...I don't know...you always seem so sure of yourself, like you don't care what anyone thinks, you're not afraid of anyone," she answered.  
  
He smiled slightly at this, "Everyone's afraid of something."  
  
"So you're afraid of Lucius?"  
  
"How can I not be? After...after..." he trailed off.  
  
"After what?" she asked, confused.  
  
"After everything! After everything he's ever done to me, to my mother, to all the muggles and mudbloods – I mean, well you know what I mean...sorry, he rubbed off on me, what can I say?" he sighed.  
  
She looked a little annoyed, but said nothing about derogatory term.  
  
"What has he done to you and your mother?" she asked, hesitantly.  
  
"Look at me," he said, gesturing to his body, "he made me terrified of him, for as long as I can remember. I was never allowed any freedom, to do what I want, say what I want, even think what I want. If he found out I ever so much as looked at you without throwing an insult or a curse, he'd kill me, and if he found out that the last thing I want is to become a deatheater, and that I hate Voldemort, and all the deatheaters...well I don't think I need to go into details of what would happen to me," he looked older than his years and, suddenly, much more sober, "my life is mapped out for me and I have no say in the matter. In a few weeks time I'll be killing muggles and planning the death of your best friend. You just kissed your murderer Hermione, there's no two ways about it."  
  
He looked at her and, for the first time ever, he looked truly afraid, like a lost child.  
  
"There's nothing I can do," he whispered, his voice in danger of breaking, "I hate it, and I hate my father, and I hate myself for it, but there's nothing I can do..." he broke off and put his head in his hands.  
  
He felt a hand on his shoulder and lifted his head up to look at her again. She smiled slightly and said, "I know you won't follow him forever, one day you'll realise, it's your life, not his, he can't make you do anything you don't want to, you'll find a way to win."  
  
She kissed the bruise on his shoulder and made her way to the bruise on his jaw, then to his lips. He kissed her passionately, pushed her back on the sofa and laid himself on top of her, holding her close.  
  
He pulled away for a moment and said, "I don't think anyone has ever believed in me like you, they all just think I am who my father is..."  
  
"You're not anything like your father, I don't think you'd be kissing a mudblood like me if you were," she replied. 


End file.
